


Without a Punchline

by Takene_ne



Category: DCU, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bruce is too tired for this(TM), Established Relationship, Fanfiction, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, Jerome is mostly there cackling in the background, M/M, also he sighs a lot, for once is not HIS fault so pls let the boy have his fun, it's a thing, or CAN'T it?, the same cannot be said for Jeremiah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25788013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Takene_ne/pseuds/Takene_ne
Summary: In which the Twins maybe—finally—definitelylost their mindsand Bruce deserves a break. He doesn’t get one.
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne, Jeremiah Valeska/Jerome Valeska/Bruce Wayne, Jerome Valeska/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 13
Kudos: 76





	Without a Punchline

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](https://takenene.tumblr.com/post/625541465209274368/jeremiah-bursting-through-the-door-jerome-i) tumblr post that got wildly out of hand. I regret NOTHING   
> (come say hi btw) 
> 
> Also please ignore all the canon angst for this one <3

Bruce yawns.

His evening tea went cold a long time ago but he’s still working on a file of a serial arsonist that’s been terrorizing Gotham for the past two weeks. The city slowly turns desperate as more and more buildings burst into flames, and Bruce meticulously tries to piece together the faint leads he’s got from the GCPD, in hopes to finally catch the bastard. He’s on his third re-read of the locations’ breakdown when his tablet pings awake.

It’s too late for his police friends to contact him about the case and the search on trading flammables he’s got running turned back nothing useful in hours, so the unexpected sound catches him off guard.

For a second Bruce thinks that maybe Jerome is trying to summon him to bed via text — wouldn’t be the first time, and it’s that hour already that his lovers could’ve turned justifiably… _impatient_.

It isn’t.

Notification shining on his screen is one that Bruce has never seen before. On first sight it doesn’t look malicious in any way, but anything unprompted showing up on his _work_ devices is enough to raise suspicion.

> **Archive of Our Own**  
>  [AO3] Comment on Without a Punchli…

Fine.

Maybe a little break will do him some good. Refresh the mind. Okay, then.

What he sees when he opens the email is a standard, colorful advertisement layout which is a disappointment, somehow. For something as trite as _spam_ to break through his firewalls is truly anticlimactic. A little pitiful, maybe.

Bruce is about to immediately click away and go back to work when something about the actual text of the ad catches his eye.

> **clownF00ker_666** left the following comment on **_Without a Punchline:_**
>
>> > DUUUUUDE!!1
>>> 
>>> I cried.

Curious. That… doesn’t really look like your standard spam email. Some sketchy dating site, maybe, but not anything remotely important enough or _harmful_ enough that checking the source cannot wait until the morning. When Bruce won’t be so tired.

Because he _is_ tired. He’s spent the last seven hours hunched over his desk, searching for clues that _aren’t there_ and the last thing he needs right now is to worry about his safety protocols.

Bruce ignores the strange email and goes back to his files, promising himself only half more hour of work before he goes to bed.

He doesn’t get that chance, though.

Not even five minutes pass when another notification pops up. This time Bruce doesn’t hesitate to open it.

> **SundayFicLover** left the following comment on **_Without a Punchline:_**
>
>> > You should know I don’t normally read stories focused on OCs but I liked your other works enough to give it a try. I was not disappointed. It is very good.

Well, this catches his attention alright. Bruce may not know what an _‘OC’_ is but the message is clear enough to know that something’s afoot.

Bruce wouldn’t peg either of his lovers for much of a storyteller, both of them reveling in the art of showmanship too much to willingly be pushed to the sidelines by their own creations. But if Bruce learned one infallible truth over the years of dealing with crazy, it’s that there is only _one_ major driving force of chaos unabashedly taking pleasure in destabilizing his life on a semi-regular basis, both halves of which should be currently jammed in his bedroom. Together. _Alone_.

Bruce sighs. He can already tell this will be a long night.

This time, he doesn’t even have a chance to leave the app before the next email comes in.

> **kamakamakameleon** left the following comment on **_Without a Punchline:_**
>
>> > -the flair!  
> -the DRAMA  
> -THE MOTHERFUCKING SOUP SCENE
>>> 
>>> 👌👌👌👌👌👌👌👌👌👌👌

And one more after that.

> **asdfghjKL** left the following comment on **_Without a Punchline:_**
>
>> > <3

It’s… too much.

When it comes to his lovers’ antics — and at this point he’s more than sure all of this is somehow their doing — Bruce tends to err on the side of caution. It’s easier on his nerves.

This, though, this… _hoax_ seems like something other people voluntarily get involved in, and as far as Gotham’s brand of crazy goes, that’s _the worst_ kind of trouble. Bruce is the Bat. The Protector. Whatever this mess is, if his personal Clowns are even a little bit involved, it’s his duty to not only investigate, but to ensure the safety of innocent bystanders. It always will.

Closing his case file, Bruce braces himself for the worst kind of depravity and clicks the link.

And it’s.

It’s not bad, at first glance.

The website looks simplistic enough to genuinely have literary affiliations, and although Bruce is not familiar with any of the things tagged at the top, nothing looks particularly ominous. _So far._

He scrolls down and starts reading, praying silently to the writing gods to have mercy on his unmarred soul.

> _They’re **running running running** up the stairs, up for their lives. Chaos League that wants nothing but to tear them apart hard on their heels and the last bits of hope Jeremy may have had just a heartbeat ago melt into bittersweet nothingness as he pulls Bryce onto rusty metal footbridge._
> 
> _If destinies conspired for him to lose the love of his life today, so be it. But Jeremy will not relent without a fight._

What.

Bruce abruptly stops reading, head spinning and heart in his throat.

Jeremy? _Bryce_? What is this?

_Why_ is this?

Of all malicious and twisted scenarios his battered mind has conjured before he went into this, a tacky caricature of his and Jeremiah’s last real duel is _not_ the one Bruce expected to find. At all.

It’s… confusing, to say the least. But Bruce was never a quitter.

> _Jeremy holds Bryce contained within a tight grip. His bloody fingers slide down the cheek of his beloved, crimson trails blooming on his perfect complexion like petals of plush roses that scream **love love LOVE ABOVE ALL!!!** It is not the time at all to get lost in his lover’s bewitching beauty, Jeremy knows, yet blinking ceiling lights shine akin to distant constellations in Bryce’s eyes and he simply cannot bereave himself of the pleasure to stop._
> 
> _If those are to be the last moments they are given to spend together, Jeremy will kiss eternal night hello with the image of his only love burned behind his eyelids._

Bruce breathes. Deep and slow. In and out.

That’s right, composure is key.

He’s always known Jeremiah’s feelings run _deeper_ , fueled and edged by unhealthy obsessions and a whole bunch of other issues none of them ever acknowledged out loud. Having it all spread out like this, bare and naked for the world to see, even through such warped, fantastic lens, is an experience Bruce never would’ve expected to have.

It’s deeply disconcerting, in a way that makes his chest hurt, and it takes him a solid second to take the story back up. He’s too far in to stop now anyway.

> _Vat of boiling hot soup seethes threateningly beneath their feet. It fills the wretched hall with foul stench of stale potato mush and too old stock, a stench that will without doubts haunt their dreams till the end of their days, shall they survive this wicked peril unscathed._
> 
> _Jeremy looks down at the herds of Chaos Agents closing in on them from below and at the Great Gordonian with his mighty gun, slowly making his way over the footbridge. Jeremy knows they are here to take his beloved away, dead or alive, with him or without, and he knows that he might be but a poor jester in the court of life, with dreams too big and heart too brimmed with love, but he’s found his resolve a long time ago._
> 
> _On the day fate has bestowed him with the greatest gift of all and his thus aimless path crossed with that of a brightest star, Jeremy vowed on his mother’s cold corpse and her blood spilled viciously on the ground that he will rather die in endless horrid agony than let anyone, any **thing** separate them._
> 
> _In this hour of trial, until his last heaving breath, Jeremy will honor his vow._

Case in point.

Bruce rubs his eyes, trying to pry off the weariness. He was already drained from all the work he’s done during the day, but whatever it is that he’s reading right now makes the pit in his stomach drop even more. And that’s not the worst part, no.

The worst thing about this is that Bruce isn’t sure if he’s more horrified or amused. That he finds the story a little bit sweet, in a truly grotesque way. Though, his taste must’ve been skewed some from the very start, given who exactly did he choose to share his life with.

Bruce lets out a little, tired chuckle, and dives in once more.

> _Metal railing gives way and Jeremy is **falling falling falling** to welcome his undoing. The last thing his eyes see before searing darkness envelops his tender flesh in a deadly embrace is devastation and terror lightning Bryce’s eyes like thunder and a drop of rain water sparkling down his cheek._
> 
> _Then he knows no more._

Bruce blinks.

Then blinks again.

His knuckles turn paler on the edges of the device but he keeps on reading.

> _“Bryce, my beloved. Sun of my days, air in my lungs, fire beneath my skin. Bryce, light to my darkness, love of my life — we made it! There is nothing that can keep us apart now. Forevermore!”_
> 
> _When their lips touch the universe explodes with color and the air sets ablaze. Jeremy’s skin feels electric and hot wherever Bryce’s touch lands, on his arms, on his shoulders, beneath his shirt. He can feel his beloved slip his fingers down the hem of his ruined slacks and over the curve of his ass, heedless of whomever may watch. Their tongues dance like wild animals in a fit of furious rage and Jeremy knows all his blood is descending **down down down** to where it’s needed most._
> 
> _He pulls Bryce closer, as close as his might will physically allow and wastes no time to rub—_

_Enough._

Bruce all but throws the tablet away, horror creeping down his spine in icy waves, and he has to swallow the lump in his throat to catch his breath again. Correction: there is _nothing_ sweet about this. Absolutely _not one bit_.

Blood races in his ears like he’s just run a marathon when Bruce turns slowly to check the time on the pendulum clock behind him, unable to force himself to turn the infernal device on again.

Half past eleven.

Perfect. Not too late to catch his lovers still awake.

Wooden tiles of the study creek pathetically when his chair hits the floor, but Bruce doesn’t even think to stop and pick it up on his way out.

There is business to be had.

* * *

He finds the twins in their bedroom — as expected — sprawled on the bed, waiting, like they usually do when Bruce works late and isn’t on patrol. Nothing extraordinary here. What _is_ different is that both of them are giggling with unholy glee, faces plastered to the screen. Precisely _one_ screen, of _one_ laptop, almost cheek to cheek as they scroll through something. And that.

That _never_ happens.

Jerome and Jeremiah both play nice with each other for Bruce’s sake, or, at least they do within their own screwed-up, violent standards. Which means they don’t actively try to _kill_ each other every chance they get and don’t try to manipulate Bruce into doing it for them. Not anymore. It means they don’t snap at each other with knives and guns over breakfast and willingly share Bruce, with ever-present jealousy, yes, but without spiteful competition. It’s a true ceasefire that Bruce cherishes and enjoys.

This, though?

Clearly plotting something together, _laughing_ together? Unprecedented. Dangerous. Potentially lethal.

One hundredth percent spelling trouble.

Bruce sighs. The worst part is that they didn't even notice him enter. Bruce can already feel a killer migraine coming out of this. He sighs again.

“What is this?”

Bruce throws the tablet he’s sure he crushed at least a little bit between the twins, alight and open on the offending text. They don’t react as he expected. Which, to be fair, is fully _expected_ at this point. Bruce should know better. He doesn’t.

Two pairs of twinkling eyes turn to him slowly but neither of his lovers makes a move to take it. Which means they either planned this (and Bruce already lost the battle before it even began) or they didn't, but knew what he was on about anyway. Bruce really hopes it’s the latter. Surviving in any sort of tender relationship with a couple of such notorious criminals half the time requires Bruce to just… remain blissfully ignorant of their nefarious schemes.

And this one? This one he would gladly bleach away from his brain with a drain cleaner, thank you very much.

The only reply he gets is a cocky smile.

“Jerome?” he tries.

Jerome’s usually easier to coax for answers, but only those he already wants to give. This time Bruce has no luck — Jerome turns his attention to Jeremiah and elbows him in the ribs.

“Someone did an oopsie, huh?” he coos. Jeremiah’s lips twitch.

“I sincerely apologize for using your, _ah_ , special tablet, Bruce. I must’ve forgotten to log out.”

Yeah, right. Bruce doesn’t believe him for one second. Planned attack it is, then. Bruce folds his arms over his chest, fighting the urge to bang his head against the nearest flat surface. Why is this his life, again?

“Fine. What did I just read, Jeremiah?” he asks, carefully keeping his voice clear of any inflated pitch. It doesn’t calm him down.

“A story of mine.” There’s a smirk threatening to break over Jeremiah’s barely collected façade and Bruce _really_ doesn’t like where this is going. It’s fair, though. Only it’s not the problem at hand at all.

“It’s not a story!” Bruce snaps, feeling his patience mock-waving him goodbye. “It’s Ace Chemicals all over again only… only _bastardized!_ ”

Jerome howls with laugher, falling backwards on the bed, and Bruce is sure he smashed his head on the headboard. He pinches the bridge of his nose, takes a deep breath. Composure is key.

Jeremiah smirks.

“True, but nobody knows that.”

_What?_

Bruce knows the website is public. He’s _seen_ it.

“What do you mean?”

Jeremiah’s smirk turns predatory. Oh no.

“It’s fan _fiction_ , Bruce. People read it for fun and in the abundance of absurd around, nobody takes it seriously.”

Bruce deadpans, because _really?_ This is his defense? Bruce is very acutely aware that of his two wayward lovers Jeremiah is the more… thoroughly unhinged one, but that never stopped his arguments from having at least a semblance of logic before. His urge to faceplant grows dangerously strong. Composure, Bruce.

He very pointedly ignores Jerome, who, by this point, tumbled to the floor and is cackling maniacally. So much for (im)moral support, then. Bruce sighs.

“Regardless, you can’t just put our private life on display like that, Jeremiah. It’s _private_ for a reason.” Bruce is too tired for this. He should’ve left the blasted thing to inspect in the morning like he originally planned instead of letting himself be lured into this mess by oncoming notifications. The twins _know_ he’s more likely to give in to whatever madness they’ve cooked up overworked and half-asleep. The bastards.

Bruce sinks to the floor under the force of Jeremiah’s appalled expression and contemplates just going to sleep like nothing ever happened. Like maybe if he pretends hard enough he’s never found this ‘ _fanfiction’_ , it will all just go away.

Yeah, no dice.

“Oh, he certainly _can._ ” Wow, that’s Jerome. Bruce was beginning to think he passed out from oxygen deprivation down there.

Jeremiah, on the other hand, looks at Bruce with a strange mixture of grave offense and a kicked puppy impression, which… does little to appease Bruce’s poor nerves but is very effective at bringing him down to _I’m-so-done-with-your-bullshit_ level, rather than _one-more-word-and-you’re-sleeping-on-the-couch_ tired he was just a moment before.

Bruce would congratulate Jeremiah on his mitigation tactics if he wasn’t so damn beat. Yay, dramatic relationships!

“Would you begrudge me a mere fantasy, Bruce? A better way to remember my horrid fall?” Jeremiah asks, cocking his head to the side. Bruce knows that pose. He utterly _hates_ that pose.

But no. He wouldn’t.

The truth is, the twins may both be absolute, incurable weirdos, but Bruce does love them enough to indulge their less violent quirks and whims. Keeps everybody happier. And mostly alive.

That doesn’t mean he’s particularly pleased with their meddling right now.

“You didn't fall into chemicals,” Bruce says flatly, thinking about the course of the story. That Jeremy fell and Bryce jumped after, both of them burned but by the end alive and freed of crimes through the power of love and noble sacrifice. It was very far-fetched from what actually happened — _especially_ the public sex part — but, well. They _did_ end up together. So as much as it pains Bruce to admit, Jeremiah’s kinky fantasies hold some merit.

He still feels justified to rectify the truth. For his own sanity. Or what’s left of it, more like.

“You were swinging from the railing on one hand, pleading for your life until I pulled you back up, Jeremiah. What the hell. How is that worse?”

At that, Jerome howls with laughter again and Bruce is sure that even Alfred downstairs will hear him this time. And if the butler comes up to remind them all of proper bedtime, they are all _screwed_. Alfred is scary like that. And Bruce certainly had enough trouble for one night.

Jeremiah doesn’t look any more remorseful, or even touched in the slightest by Bruce’s statement. He doesn’t try to reach for him, though. Which says something about how much his room-reading abilities improved since their last argument. Bruce will blame Alfred for that later.

It’s only when Jerome stops wheezing and crawls around the bed so that Bruce can see him, cheeks stained with tears, that Bruce realizes he must’ve known all this time, too.

It probably should bother him more than it does, but at this point Bruce doesn’t give a shit anymore.

“Brucie baby, look at the bright side,” Jerome croons, planting his face in Bruce’s lap and looking him straight up in the eye. “We’re not even that popular. His last fic barely broke fifty thousand hits!” Jerome smiles like that’s supposed to be reassuring and Jeremiah nods eagerly in the corner of his eye, visibly holding back his best smug expression. There isn’t an ounce of shame between them and Bruce—

_We?_

—Bruce desperately wants to scream.

So he does.

* * *

* * *

**CODA:**

“So what’s _‘Superhero RPF’_?”

“Fanfiction. About superheroes, duh.”

“Like… _actual_ ones?”

‘Superman banging Batman, Superman banging Lex Luthor _and_ Batman. Y’know. All that jazz!”

“…”

“…”

“ _That’s_ what you’re writing? Jeremiah!”

“Of course not, Bruce, honey. That would be crude and unbecoming. Jerome does.”

_“AGHW!!!”_ _  
  
_

* * *

**CODA 2.0:**

> **broosenotwayne** left the following comment on **_Without a Punchline:_**
>
>> > Nostalgic. First of your works I had the pleasure of reading after a lucky mistake. I’ve read **_everything_** since and do hope to maintain a steady eye on all your future projects.
>>> 
>>> Love :)

In two separate rooms of the manor, with faces lit only by their screens, both Valeska brothers gulp simultaneously.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope “’Miah’s writing” fells sufficiently more extra than the rest of it cuz I had great fun trying to hit that cheesy romance vibe with it :D
> 
> Lemme know what you think!


End file.
